the value of a smile
by CatherineWinner
Summary: Sara's sad and Michael wants to make her smile no matter what.


"Punch me," Michael demanded the moment the guard closed the door.

"What?" his cellmate asked jumping off his bunk.

Michael gave a heavy, impatient sigh. "I. Need. You. To. Hit. Me."

"I think the stress is getting to you, Papi. Maybe you should sit." Sucre gestured to the lower bunk.

"I don't need to sit." Michael took a step towards the other man. "Listen I'm not crazy I just need to get back into the infirmary."

"What's wrong? I thought we were right on schedule." Sucre asked worriedly.

"We are." Michael replied shortly.

Sucre looked even more confused then he had a moment ago, "Then why do you need to be in the infirmary?"

Michael turned his eyes away from his cellmate, his mind wandering back a half hour.

He had noticed that during his normal routine something was off with his favorite doctor.

She had completely ignored his banter and all but missed when she stuck the needle in his arm.

"_Sara?" he had asked slowly. "Are you Ok?"_

_She had lifted her head, "I'm fine." Two seconds later. "You're done."_

"_Do you want to talk?" He asked gently, wishing she were closer so he could touch her._

"_No." she answered. "You're done, Michael. You can go now." _

_Michael watched in hurt silence as she scribbled something on his chart._

_She looked back at him, "Don't worry about me, Michael." She said gently._

_He studied her, realizing she had been crying. Dry tear marks ran down her face. Michael cast a quick look around and spotted her trash overflowing with used tissues._

"_Sara-" he started leaning forward._

"_You done with Scofield?" A guard asked sticking his head into the room._

"_Yes." Sara stood and took a few feet away from him._

"_Sara-" he said as he stood up._

"_Get your ass in gear, Scofield!" the guard yelled._

_Michael stared at her as he exited the room. Unable to tear his eyes off her face, wanting nothing more then to sit with her and help her through whatever was doing this to her. The moment he stepped out of the room however, he was already formulating a plan. _

"Ahhh…" Sucre smiled bring Michael back into the present

"What?" Michael asked sharply looking at the other man.

Sucre leaned against the bed frame. "The pretty Dr."

"What about her?"

"She's why you need to go back so bad." Sucre grinned.

"That's absurd! I just need to check the piping. We can't afford even a slight delay." Michael lied quickly.

Sucre let out a rippling laugh. "Alright Papi which side do you want your pretty doc to heal?"

Twenty minutes later Michael found himself back in the infirmary laying on the table--bleeding. Sucre had decided it needed to look as genuine as possible but Michael couldn't help but wonder if he had over done it just a little.

The door swung open and Sara stepped it. "Michael-" she started then caught sight of his bleeding face. "My god!" she hurried to his side. "What happened?"

Michael allowed himself a small grin at her concern, "Got into a little fight."

"With who? King Kong?" Sara snapped. She began applying disinfectant to a ball of cotton.

"My cellie." Michael grinned. "Don't worry. It looks worse then it is."

"Let me decide how bad it is." She snapped.

Michael lay against the table and closed his eyes. He allowed himself to focus on the feel of her hands tending to his wounds. He took a deep breath, taking in her perfume; he could feel her sitting close to his on the stool. He opened his eyes and stared at her as she worked.

"How are you?" he asked slowly. Even he could hear the depth of emotion in his voice.

Sara looked at him for a second then turned back to the table covered in bandages.

"I'm not the one laying bruised and bloody."

"You are in the inside." Michael threw back quickly.

Sara stopped, "What do you want Michael?" she asked a hint of anger in her voice.

"I want you to talk to me." He leaned forward, bringing him within inches of her.

"What you would like to talk about Michael?" Sara asked turning away from him.

Michael watched her bruise herself preparing another bandage for him.

"What happened this morning?"

Sara flinched, "How about we just concentrate on fixing you up."

She leaned forward and pressed a band-aid tightly over his nose, careful not to meet his eyes.

Michael caught her right hand in his; he pulled her hand lightly to his chest.

"Why were you crying?" he said softly.

Sara finally lifted her eyes to his, "I don't want to talk about this." It was barely a whisper.

"I want to help you." He whispered back. "I can't leave this room knowing you're in pain."

Sara bit her lip as tears built in her eyes, "Michael…"

"What happened?" He repeated slowly. Suddenly a thought hit him. His grip on her changed, it became tighter and more possessive. "Did someone hurt you?"

Sara dropped her head and gave a light shake. "No."

"What is it?" He lifted his free hand and titled her face back up to him.

"My-"she gasped, a tear ran down her cheek. "My mother died 12 years ago today."

"Oh god, Sara-" he swung his feet off the table still holding her hand tight in his. "I'm so sorry."

She nodded; "After all this time you'd think I'd have learn-" she started berating herself.

"Sara don't do this to yourself. She was your mother." He said quickly. He waited a moment, wanting her to continue. "What was she like?"

"She was a drunk. If you know one you know them all." Sara said cynically.

Michael stared at her. Her father had banished any happy memories of her mother from her mind. "She wasn't always like that. Tell me about your mother." He stroked her chin.

Sara opened her mouth then stopped and studied him. She took a deep breath as if remembering where she was and whom she was with. "I can't."

"Sara-"he started.

"I can't because you're a prisoner." She stood and walked toward the window.

She crossed her arms in front of her, staring out the window. "I can't talk to you. You're not my friend; you're not my confidant! You're a prisoner!" she said harshly.

Michael stood, "I am your friend. And I want to help you."

Sara turned to him. He took a few steps toward her. "When she was dying my father never even came into the hospital room. He stayed in the waiting room until she was gone then went directly to a press conference. Two weeks later he came home from a campaign, told me enough was enough and sent me to away to school." Sara was vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face. "You know the last thing she said to me? 'He's not coming is he?' I didn't have the heart to tell her he was already here but wasn't coming. He was to busy on the phone preparing a statement. Then she was gone. She never told me she loved me, and I never got a chance to tell her I loved her." She wiped at her face gently.

Michael stepped onto the little platform bringing himself within a foot of her. "When my mom died, it was sudden and unexpected. I don't remember what. I just remember one day I knew I was surrounded with love then the next day it was gone. Lincoln did the best he could but he was pretty young himself." He didn't try to touch her; he locked eyes with her and refused to let them go. "I never got a chance to say goodbye or tell her how much I loved her. But I know she knew simply because I was her son. Your mother knew it too Sara. All mom's do."

"But why didn't she tell me? Why did she ask about him?" she whispered looking desperate.

"Because, no matter what a part of her still loved him." He rested a hand on her crossed arms.

Sara turned her head to stare out the window; it was a poor attempt to shield her tears from him.

Michael watch silently as she stood rigid, her chin quivering as she cried.

After a moment he lifted a hand to her face, and used his thumb to wipe away tears.

"Thank you." She whispered

"For what." He asked his voice husky.

"For letting me talk. No one's ever done that before."

"It's the lest I can do considering everything you've done for me." He chuckled.

She faced him, "What are you doing here?" she asked softly.

"My cellie beat the hell out of me." He answered quickly.

"I don't mean here, I mean in prison. You don't belong here."

"I'm afraid the state of Illinois doesn't agree with you there." He smiled. He felt a little pang of hope that if she really believed that they might have a future.

"What's going on here Michael?" she questioned studying him. "Your not violent. Why are you here?"

Michael froze, Damn it. He wanted to help her-he wanted to heal her. But he couldn't let her jeopardize the plan. He was losing focus. He turned and walked back to the table.

"I'm one of the bad guys, Sara. Don't forget that." He heard the words coming out of his mouth and regretted every-single one of them. "And you were right, I'm not your friend."

Michael pulled on his prison jacket and started toward the door.

"Bad guys don't make me feel better." She stated simply.

Michael stopped, "I'm glad your feeling better, Dr. Tendcredi." He allowed himself one last look at her. She was standing with her arms dropped at her side, a confused, and flustered look on her face.

"It's Sara." She told him with a smile.

Michael felt a smile tug at his lips. "Sara."

He forced himself to knock on the infirmary door causing the guard to look up.

"He all done Dr?" The guard asked stepping into the room.

"Yes." She responded quickly.

Michael gave her a small nod then allowed the guard to pushed him out of the room.

Later that night Michael knew he was jeopardizing the plan by allowing his affection for her to control his actions. But it was worth it, he realized, just to see her smile.


End file.
